Take Me Out To The Ballgame
by superdupersk8r61
Summary: Collins brings home tickets to the Yankees game one day and drags all his friends with him, thinking it would be a fun way to spend the afternoon. After all, what kind of trouble could they possibly get into at Yankee Stadium, right? Well, read to find ou


**A/N:** So, in honor of today begin the last day of baseball's regualr season, and the playoffs starting in a few days, I decided it would be fun to write a little one-shot about our favorite group of friends taking in a baseball game. Since they live in New York, obviously, they will be attending a Yankee game. And as much as it pained me, a hardcore Red Sox fan, to write, it was still fun and I think I got to incorparate my Sox love in there a little:) So anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Please Read and Review. I live on feedback. And oh yeah, one more thing...GO RED SOX!! 2007 WORLD SERIES CHAMPS!!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing to do with RENT, the New York Yankees, the Boston Red Sox or anything else you may recognize in the fic. Thanks!

* * *

"Where the heck is Collins?" Mark Cohen wondered aloud. "We sent him out to get the pizza over an hour ago."

It was a lazy, summer day in New York City, and the six Bohemians (since Collins was currently MIA) were lounging around Mark and Roger's loft.

"Maybe he got lost," Roger suggested from the couch, not bothering to look up from the current edition of _The Village Voice_ he was leafing through.

Mark slid off the metal table that separated the kitchen and living room areas. "The pizza place is just around the corner," he said, a concerned tone in his voice, as he began to pace.

"So?" asked Mimi, whose head was rested in Roger's lap as she painted her nails a glittery-blue color.

Mark stopped pacing long enough to shoot Mimi an incredulous glare before he once again began his mission to wear a rut into the wooden floors. "'So?' What do you mean 'So?' He should have been back _way_ before now," his voice beginning to rise a few octaves.

Roger's eyes rolled behind his paper. "He's a big boy, Mark. He can take care of himself."

"You do realize that the last time this happened, he was mugged and left practically for dead in the street, right?" Mark shot back with a short, wary laugh.

A perky voice spoke up. "Until I found him!" Angel announced cheerfully who had dutifully begun painting Mimi's right hand for her.

Mark sent a small smile toward Angel. "Yes, true. And we love you for that, Angel, we really do, but I'm still worried," he said, anxiously running his hands through his blonde hair.

Maureen pried herself away from her girlfriend, Joanne's, lips long enough to throw in her two cents. "Mark, this is Collins we're talking about here. He's probably teaching his latest anarchist theory to every person on the street," she said, reasonably, which was a welcome departure from her normal, everyday diva-like exaggerations.

However, Mark still wasn't convinced. "But what if he-"

Maureen sighed loudly, releasing her inner drama queen. "Mark, he's _fine_. So quit worrying and grow a pair," she said, earning snickers from both Roger and Angel.

And as if on cue, the group heard the door to the loft sliding opening, announcing Collins' return. "See?" Maureen asked Mark with a triumphant smirk.

"You bitches miss me?" Collins asked, a huge smile on his face, as he strolled into the loft, kicking off his shoes as he walked.

Roger titled his head toward his roommate. "Mark here almost wet himself worrying," he said casually, still not looking up from the paper.

"Shut up, Rog," Collins said with a laugh, figuring Roger was joking.

Finally looking up, Roger stared Collins dead in the eyes. "I'm not kidding," he said seriously.

"He's not," Mimi added, backing her boyfriend up.

Collins looked from Mark to Roger curiously, but decided not to press any further. "Umm, okaaaayyyy. Not gonna ask. But in any case, you six need to get off your lazy asses," he said, striding over to where Angel was seated and pulling her up onto her feet. "We're going out!"

Mark stared at his anarchist friend. "Collins, it's like 11 in the afternoon. Don't you think it's a little early?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Collins merely shrugged. "It's five o'clock somewhere. More specifically Berlin and the whole Coordinated Universal Time zone."

The group was silent for a few moments. "It is so scary that you know that," Roger said with a shudder.

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment," Collins said, laughing. "And as happy I am that you all think of me as some sort of alcoholic or something-"

Collins was interrupted by a "not-so-subtle" throat clear, courtesy of Maureen. After shooting her a quick glare, he continued. "-we are not going out drinking."

"We're not drinking?" Roger exclaimed, a shocked expression ringing in his voice. "What else could we possibly do?"

"And you all think I'm the alcoholic," Collins quipped, rolling his eyes.

Angel shot her boyfriend a look. "Okay, so maybe I am," he amended with a smirk. "But I am also the guy who brings home tickets," he said, pulling a handful of tickets from his pants pocket.

"Tickets? Tickets to what?" Joanne wondered curiously.

"The Yankees game this afternoon!" Collins announced excitedly, going around the room and handing on to all his friends.

"No way!" Mark exclaimed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he inspected the ticket. "How did you get these?" he asked, looking back up at Collins.

Collins shifted uncomfortably. "Umm…don't worry about it," he said ambiguously, allowing his eyes to roam around the room, but not to lock in with Mark's.

"You know, your tone of voice is, in fact, making me worry," Mark said as he studied his friend.

"Me too," Angel added.

"It wasn't anything illegal, was it?" Mimi asked, only half-kidding.

Joanne held up her hands in surrender. "If it was, I don't wanna know."

"Who cares how he got them? We're going to a Yankees game!" Mark exclaimed, kissing his ticket and dancing around in a little circle.

When he finally calmed down a bit, Maureen studied him for a moment, then asked, "Since when do you care about football?"

All six heads in the room turned to stare at the diva in disbelief. "Are you serious?" Mark asked, his hand over his heart.

"Well, yeah," she said, scoffing and tossing her curly hair over her shoulder. "You've never mentioned them before."

"No, not that," Mark said with a shake of his head. "_Football_, Maureen?" he asked incredulously.

"What?" she asked defensively.

Apparently, Mark couldn't take it any longer. He just shook his head, disappointed, and walked into the kitchen area. "The Yankees are a baseball team." Collins explained, taking over.

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Maureen snapped, finally noticing that every one in the room was looking at her as if she were nuts. "No one's ever said anything about them before. Which further illustrates my previous point," she said, the last bit directed at Mark.

"Even if that is the case, Maureen, it's _July_. Football season's in the winter," Mark said, speaking like he was talking to a small child as he came over and rejoined the group.

Maureen crossed her arms angrily, upset that she was making a fool out of herself. "Oh, come on. Who really knows that?"

"I did," Roger scoffed.

"Me too," Joanne added, looking at Maureen sympathetically.

Maureen turned to her girlfriend, her jaw hanging open in shock. "Helping or hurting, Pookie? Helping or hurting?" she asked bitterly.

"Sorry," Joanne uttered quickly, giving Maureen a small peck on the cheek.

"Okay, whatever. But seriously though, since when are the six of you baseball aficionados?" Maureen asked, regarding her six friends carefully.

Angel took a seat next to Maureen, resting her hand on her knee. "Honey, everyone on the _planet _knows who the New York Yankees are."

"Right, but since when do any of you _care_?"

"I don't," Mimi said in a bored voice, inspecting her new nails.

Maureen shot Mimi a grateful smile. "Thanks, Mimi. At least _someone_ is on my side," she said, glaring evilly at everyone else.

"It's just a bunch of over-paid guys chasing a dirty ball around. No thank you."

Collins grinned, knowing exactly what to say to convince the dancer. "Mimi, there's going to be lots of athletic baseball players. In tight uniforms."

Mimi jumped up from Roger's lap. She grabbed her purse and headed straight for the door. "Okay, forget what I just said. I'm _SO_ in."

"Me too," Mark chimed in, going over to join Mimi by the door. Realizing what his comment sounded like and that everyone was staring at him curiously, he continued, "_Not _because of the guys. I just know the basics about baseball, but my dad was a big Yankee fan, and we never got a chance to go to any of the games."

"I'll go." Angel announced, walking over to Mimi and Mark. Roger, Joanne, and Collins soon followed.

Maureen, however, stubbornly stayed seated, arms crossed and a pout on her face. "What do you say, Maureen?" Collins asked as the six of them were about to walk out the door.

Maureen let a long, over-dramatic sigh. "Alright. But only because I don't want to spend the afternoon alone," she said, finally getting up.

"Oh, stop your pouting," Joanne said jokingly, grabbing Maureen cheeks like a great aunt would do to a child whenever they would see them.

"You'll have fun," Collins said encouragingly, slinging an arm around Maureen's shoulders. "After all, there are worse ways to spend the afternoons."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," Maureen muttered grumpily as she followed her friends out the door.

* * *

"_CCCRRRAAACCCKKK_"

That sound of the bat was one of the many sounds that greeted the group as they entered Yankee Stadium that afternoon. It was still a couple of hours before game time and the Yankees were taking batting practice, much to Maureen's dismay.

"Look out!" Maureen shouted before diving behind Collins.

Roger looked at her incredulously. "Maureen, that ball was hit on the ground. Over there," he said with a laugh, pointing out that the ball was hit down the third baseline while they were on the first base side.

Maureen peered at Roger while still hiding safely behind Collins. "It could have bounced," she argued defensively.

"Into the upper deck?"

Maureen came out from behind Collins and sat down in one of the seats with a huff. "You never know. I didn't want to take that chance."

"So you ducked behind me so I could get hit? Gee, thanks a lot," Collins said sarcastically.

"You're bigger than me. You could have taken it."

Mimi took a seat next to Maureen, "This isn't fair. I can't see any of the players. We're too high up," she whined.

Angel grabbed her hand and pulled her right back up. "Well, let's go take a closer look," she said, practically dragging her down the steps.

"But our seats are up here," Mimi protested.

Angel stopped dragging Mimi for a moment and explained, "You think that matters? Seats are like a free-for-all. You sit wherever you want until you get kicked out. Besides, the game hasn't even started yet. You're, like, _supposed _to go watch the players."

"And you know all this…how?" Mark asked.

Angel just shrugged. "I don't tell you guys everything."

He considered this for a moment. "Fair enough," he decided.

"Well, in that case, I'm going down there," Mimi said, heading down the steps. Halfway down, she stopped and turned around. "You coming with, Maureen?" she asked.

"You actually want me to go with you and drool all over the players? Of all the, low, degrading-" Maureen began, feigning shock.

Mimi smiled amusedly. "I'll take that as a yes, then?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"No," Maureen said, crossing her arms and settling back in her seat. "It's a _hell_ yes," she exclaimed, jumping up and scurrying after Mimi.

"Maureen!" Joanne called after her in disbelief.

"What?" Maureen said, batting her eyelashes innocently. "I can't stay up here. I'll get a nosebleed, and red is _SO_ not my color. I'm more of green person. Green really brings out-"

"The wicked witch in you?" Roger quipped sarcastically.

"Excuuuuuuuse me," Maureen said, offended. "I was going to say my eyes."

Not wanting to wait through another argument, Mimi grabbed Maureen by the arm and pulled her down the stairs with Angel following after them. "Okay, let's go, Maureen."

"Oh, no you don't. Not without me," Joanne called as she ran after them, leaving the three boys alone.

Mark opened his messenger bag and pulled out his camera. "You brought your camera to the game?" Roger asked curiously. Mark could only look at him. "Right. Stupid question," Roger said, rolling his eyes.

"I want to document every moment of this," Mark said, winding up his camera. "The stadium, the people, the colors! The green grass, the blue seats, the-" he said as he held the camera up to his eye and began filming everything around him.

Roger shook his head at the sight of his roommate. "You were definitely deprived as a child."

"No argument there," Mark said, pulling the camera away from his face. "I'm going to go wander around, get some good footage."

Collins patted him on the shoulder. "Alright, later man."

"Bye," Mark said with a wave before sauntering off.

"So, whaddaya say we do?" Collins asked Roger, as they were the only two left.

They both looked at each other for a second. "Food and beer," they decided simultaneously, and went off to find the concessions.

* * *

By then, Mimi, Angel, Maureen and Joanne had made their way down to the field level and managed to wiggle their way to the front of the crowd that was gathered around the Yankee dugout.

"Ahh. Much better," Mimi decided, taking in the view in front of her. Three players were stretching out their hamstrings right where the girls were, giving them a nice view of some Yankee ass.

"I agree," Maureen said, eyeing the guys. "Hey, sexy! Number 38," she called to one of them. "Yeah, over here," she said, catching his eye. "What's up, baby?" she asked with a nod. All three guys smirked at her before jogging off, and number 38 shot her a wink.

"Maureen!" Joanne exclaimed, smacking her in the arm.

"What?" Maureen asked with a giggle. "It's just a little harmless fun, Pookie. Watch this." She noticed two other players tossing a ball around near them. "Hey, 28," she called to the one closest to them. Getting his attention, she said, "Check this out."

Maureen grabbed Joanne and kissed her passionately. The Yankee, stunned, was too wrapped up in the girls to notice when his partner threw the ball back, which resulted in the ball hitting him a most unfortunate place.

Hearing a pained groaned, Maureen broke apart from Joanne to find the player rolling on the ground. "Oh! Oh, my God!" Joanne gasped.

"Hope he was wearing his jock," Maureen said, laughing as the other player rushed over and helped his injured teammate off the field.

"That was mean, Maureen," Mimi admonished.

Maureen just rolled her eyes. "Please. He's fine. And it's not like I meant for that to happen."

Joanne wasn't buying that excuse. "Yeah, sure," she said doubtfully.

While Maureen and Joanne bickered, Mimi's focused drifted back to the field. As she watched the players, she happened to noticed of them watching back. "Hey, Angel?" she called.

"Yeah, chica?" she asked, coming over to stand next to Mimi.

"I think that one over there is checking you out," she said trying to nod her head discretely toward the field.

Angel, who had been filing her nails after losing interest in the players after a minute, suddenly looked up with great interest. "What? Where?" she asked excitedly.

"Right there." Mimi said, craning her neck in his direction.

"Which one?" Angel asked, still not seeing who Mimi was talking about.

Mimi sighed exasperatedly and gave up all attempts to be subtle. "That one!" she said, pointing straight at him.

Finally, Angel was able to pinpoint the one. "Ooo. He's cute," she said, batting her batting her eyelashes at him.

By this point, Maureen and Joanne had stopped arguing and were also watching with interest. "Oh, my God, Angel. He's coming over here." Maureen announced.

"Shut up!" Angel said laughing turning to Maureen and hitting her playfully.

Maureen, too, pointed straight at him. "No, seriously. Look!"

By the time Angel turned back around, the Yankee was standing right there in front of her. "Hey, baby," he said, shamelessly looking her up and down. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," Angel said flirtatiously, twirling her finger in her wig."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked.

"Angel," she said with a little giggle.

"Angel," he said, reaching over and running his fingers over her arm. "You know, I should have guessed because I've never seen anything like you on earth."

"Oh, please," Mimi muttered, as she, Maureen and Joanne dissolved into stifled giggles.

"Hey, mister," Maureen said, her laughter breaking free. "I don't think she's your type."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," he said quickly to Maureen before returning his attention back to his "Angel."

Angel sent a devious smile toward her friends before saying, "I think she might be right."

The thing was though, she said it in her real voice. Her man voice.

The Yankee quickly pulled his hand off Angel as his jaw dropped to the ground. Angel gave him her famous pinky wave before taking off through the seats with Mimi, Maureen and Joanne behind her.

Once they were a safe distance away, they all stopped and were bent over from both the physical exertion and laughter. "Oh, my God! That was the greatest thing ever!" Mimi exclaimed, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Even Joanne was laughing. "Did you see the look on his face?" she asked.

"Poor guy never knew what hit him," Maureen added.

Angel looked back toward the field, looking guilty. "I feel bad. He was cute."

"What about Collins?" Mimi asked, still laughing.

Angel shrugged. "Well, I still feel bad."

"Speaking of Collins," Maureen said, switching the subject. "We should probably get back to the guys. I bet they miss us by now."

"Who wouldn't?" Angel asked with a hair toss and a giggle.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mark was wandering around the stadium, filming anything and everything. He walked around the back part of the stadium, where all the concessions and things of that sort were. He came across an interesting-looking hallway. At the end of that hallway he came across a door marked "Restricted." His investigative nature took over and he quickly looked around to make sure no one was around before slowly opening the door and sliding in.

When he entered, he found a room full of lockers. He had wandered into the Yankees' clubhouse. Knowing it probably wasn't the best idea for him to be in there, he turned back around to leave.

But before he could, the door opened the other way and he ran into a very executive-looking woman.

"What do you think are you doing in here?" she demanded frazzled, straightening her skirt.

"I…uh…I was just-" Mark stammered, trying to stall long enough to think of a plausible excuse.

The woman looked down and noticed the camera in Mark's hand and her face relaxed. "Oh, a camera. Forgive me. You must be from _The Times_," she said with a chuckle.

"Uh…" Mark was still looking for the right answer.

"You're here to interview Tim Leary, right? Tonight's starting pitcher?" she asked while hustling Mark toward a different door.

"Uh, yeah. Right. I'm here for the interview," Mark blurted out without thinking, just happy that it didn't seem like he was going to be in trouble.

"Great. Follow me. Tim's waiting for you on the field." And before Mark could say another word, he was following her out the door and onto the field.

* * *

"Where the hell have you guys been?" Maureen demanded to Collins and Roger as they returned to the seats to find the four girls waiting there for them. "We came back here and everyone was gone."

"Hey, you can't be too mad," Roger said with a grin. "We come bearing gifts," he said, passing around hot dogs and beers.

After gratefully accepting the gifts, Maureen looked around for a second and then back up at Roger. "But you don't come bearing Mark?" she asked.

"What?" Roger asked, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"You know, Mark? Short, skinny, pale blonde? Camera permanently attached to his hand?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar," Roger joked. "What about him?"

"Where is he?" Maureen asked. "You guys lose him?"

"Nah," Collins said, waving his hand around. "He's around here somewhere, filming shit."

"Or maybe he's hanging out on the field." Mimi said, her gaze fixated on the field.

"Meems, don't be ridiculous," Roger said, brushing her off. "Why on earth would Mark be on the field?"

"I don't know, you tell me. 'Cuz someone who looks an awful lot like Mark is down there, talking to one of the players," she said, pointing at someone on the field.

"WHAT!?" everyone exclaimed at once.

"Look," she said, gesturing with her hand.

Roger, Collins, Angel, Maureen, and Joanne all turned to look where Mimi was pointing. And it was, indeed, Mark, sitting back on a folding chair, camera in hand, with a Yankee player seated across from him.

"Oh," Angel began.

Joanne contributed a "My."

"God," Maureen finished.

"It _is _Mark," Roger exclaimed, shocked.

* * *

"So, uh, Mr. Leary-" Mark began, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Tim," The pitcher corrected.

Mark tugged at his collar nervously. "Uh, right. Tim. So…uh, Tim-"

"Hey, man," Tim said, looking at Mark with concern. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Mark said, waving him off, trying to play it cool.

"I mean, nothing personal or anything, but is this your first interview or something? You seem kind of nervous."

"Oh, no. I've done this tons of times. Tons," Mark reassured him, although rather unconvincingly.

"If you say so," Tim said, his tone of voice indicating that he definitely didn't believe Mark.

"Okay. Let's begin," Mark said, making his voice sound as professional as possible. At least, he _hoped_ it sounded professional. "Umm…How long have you been playing?" he asked, pulling out the first thing that came to his mind.

Tim smiled, reminiscing while Mark inwardly congratulated himself for pulling a question off. Maybe he could actually get through the interview without being found out. "I started playing baseball when I was five. This is my sixth full season in the majors, my first with the Yanks. Before that, I was in Milwaukee, L.A., and Cincinnati," Tim answered.

"Oh, L.A.? Did you like playing for the Rams?" Mark asked brightly, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.

However, Tim just looked at him like he wasn't speaking English. "Excuse me?" he asked, confused.

Mark felt his stomach tangle up in a knot. "That's not right, is it?" he asked slowly, wrinkling his nose.

"No," Tim said, just as slowly, shaking his head.

"The Rams are football?" Mark asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," he answered, slowly nodding his head.

"Damn you, Maureen," Mark muttered softly under his breath.

But apparently, it wasn't soft enough. "What did you say?" Tim asked.

Mark's eyes widened to a "deer-in-the-headlights" look. "I said, uh, 'Your uniform's very clean?'" he said, inwardly groaning at his pathetic excuse at a save.

Tim smiled politely, but one could tell that he definitely thought Mark was insane. "Umm…thanks? I guess."

"You're welcome," Mark muttered, staring at the grass as his face turned a very interesting shade of red.

"Do you have any more questions?" Tim asked.

"Of course I do," Mark said feigning confidence, trying to regain his cool. "I'm a professional interviewer."

"Don't you mean 'reporter'?" Tim asked, a forced smile on his face.

Mark's face turned an even deeper shade of red. "Right. That's what I said."

Tim looked at him curiously, "No, I'm pretty sure you said-"

Mark cut him off quickly. Better for him to be asking questions than for Tim to start getting suspicious. "So, Tim, who was your favorite player when you were a kid?

Tim's smile relaxed and so did Mark. "As a pitcher, Bob Gibson was always an inspiration to me," he answered.

"Oh, yeah," Mark said nodding like he actually had a clue as to who Bob Gibson was. "One of the greats."

"Definitely. Definitely," Tim agreed and Mark let out a sigh of relief.

Feeling confident, Mark continued. "You even look a little like him."

Tim's eyebrows shot up when he heard that. "Really?" he asked, eyeing Mark curiously.

"Yeah. I can't believe no one's ever told you before," Mark rattled on, not even bothering to think about what he was saying.

"Well, you see, that's funny 'cuz, Bob Gibson is black."

Mark groaned. He knew he should have quit while he was ahead. But he quickly tried to cover up his latest embarrassing mistake. "Oh, of course. I mean, duh. Everyone knows that. What I meant by that is that, you have very similar facial bone structure. You know, 'chiseled'. Not that you 'look like him', look like him."

"Are you hitting on me?" Tim asked, shifting in his seat uneasily.

"What?!" Mark exclaimed.

"'Cuz you know, it kinda seems like you are."

"What? No! Of course not." Mark said defensively. But realizing he may have offended the pitcher, he tried to reword his thoughts. "Not that you're not a good-looking guy, because, you know-"

Tim held out his hands. "Please just stop."

"Right. Got it," Mark muttered, even more embarrassed than before.

"You know, I think it's time I go warm up for the game," Tim said, rising from his seat. "Nice to, uh, meet you," he said hesitantly, offering his hand cautiously to Mark.

"Yeah. Thanks for your time." Mark said pathetically as he quickly gave Tim's hand a shake before the pitcher jogged away.

Shaking his head at himself, Mark gathered his camera and left the field in search of his friends.

* * *

Once he had made his way back to the seats, Maureen was the first to notice him. "Your have some serious explaining to do, Mister!"

Angel pulled him down in the empty seat next to her. "What the hell happened down there?!" she exclaimed.

"Okay, where do I begin?" Mark asked, with a roll of his eyes. "Should I start with the fact that a professional baseball player thinks I'm the dumbest person in the world, or the fact that that very same baseball player thinks I'm in love with him?" he said, finishing with an ironic laugh.

All six of his friends stared blankly at him. "What?" Roger finally asked.

"Long story."

Collins gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "It's a long game, Mark. We've got time."

Mark's eyes fluttered closed behind his glasses in pain. "It's a rather traumatic story I would prefer not to relive it."

Maureen wasn't buying any of it. "But how come-" she began.

His eyes shot open to glare at Maureen sternly, cutting her off. "Can we just leave it at that? Please?"

Maureen, not used to such forcefulness coming from Mark, held her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. We're officially dropping it," she said, her eyebrows raising.

"Thank you," Mark said, looking at Maureen gratefully.

"Hey, look," Mimi said, changing the subject. "The game's about to start."

Roger looked at her surprise. "How do you know that?" he asked.

"The teams are taking the field. Duh," Mimi answered her boyfriend as if he was the one who knew nothing about baseball, earning snickers from the rest of her friends.

The Yankees ran out of the field, and the whole stadium erupted in cheers. Except for Maureen, who sat there with her arms crossed.

"How come you're not clapping, Maureen?" Angel asked.

Maureen put a stubborn pout on her face. "I've decided that I'm going to cheer for the other team."

"Why?" Mark wanted to know.

"I don't know," she answered, shrugging. "Because I can."

Angel considered that for a moment. "They _do_ have nicer uniforms," she decided. "No one should ever wear pinstripes. Ever. _So_ not flattering."

"Yeah. That too," Maureen added quickly, thankful for Angel's defense.

Collins looked at Maureen worriedly. "Umm, Maureen? You _do_ realize who the other team is, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Maureen scoffed confidently, adding a toss of her curly hair in for good measure. "The uh, Red…something."

Collins shook his head. "That would be the Red Sox," he informed her.

"Okay. The Red Sox," Maureen said simply. "So what's your point?"

"Maureen, Yankees and Red Sox is the biggest rivalry in all of sports," Roger said.

"So?" she asked, not understanding the full seriousness of the situation.

"So, I'm just saying that you better watch your back if you cheer for them," Collins said, his tone letting her know that her was being very serious. "That's my point."

"Oh, please," Maureen said, rolling her eyes, brushing her philosophical friend off. "What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

After that the game began. Neither team scored in the first inning. After the third out of the bottom of the first, Mimi stood up and made a move to leave.

Roger looked at her, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Each team batted," Mimi said, like it should be obvious where she was going. "That means it's over, right?" she asked, not as confident, looking to Collins for confirmation.

"No. That means _one_ inning's over," he told her.

"One?!" Mimi exclaimed, shocked. "How many are there?"

Collins looked at Roger with an evil gleam in his eye. "You wanna tell her or should I?" he asked, trying to hold back a few snickers.

Roger glanced at Mimi, a wicked smile plastered on his face, before turning back to Collins. "Let me do it. It'll be fun."

Mimi sat back down in her seat, looking from Roger to Collins worriedly, not knowing if she actually wanted the answer to her question.

"There are nine innings, Mimi," Roger told her, almost triumphantly, not being able to hold back his laughter.

Mimi's jaw dropped to the ground. "Nine?!" she exclaimed in shock, her eyes widening. "I gotta sit through this eight more times?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup," Collins answered laughing, while Angel wrapped Mimi in a sympathetic hug.

Mimi stood back up, with a determined sigh. "Well, in that case, I'm gonna need another drink," She looked at Roger expectantly. "Coming, Rog?"

Roger looked up at his girlfriend with a pout. "Aww, babe! I don't wanna miss any of the game," he whined.

Mimi stuck her hip out and placed her hand on it, the classic "angry female" pose. "If you don't come with me, you're gonna be missing something else," she snapped before walking away.

"Alright, fine," Roger grumbled under his breath as got up and followed Mimi back to the concession stands.

* * *

Mimi and Roger got in line when they saw a very familiar-looking man standing in front of them.

"Well, well, well," Roger called tauntingly. "If it isn't Benjamin Coffin III."

Hearing his name, Benny turned around, his face expressing his shock when he saw just who was standing behind him. "Roger, Mimi. Nice to see you both," he said politely, managing to cover up his shock.

Roger crossed his arms and stared Benny down, sizing him up. "Thinking of buying out Yankee Stadium to put up another one of your 'cyber-studios'?" he asked him sarcastically.

"No, no. Not exactly," Benny said, smiling. "Just here enjoying the game with my wife. Surely you remember Alison?" he asked, motioning to the tall, blonde woman beside him.

"Roger, nice to see you again," she said pleasantly, shaking his hand. Then, she turned to Mimi. "And so you're Mimi. I've heard so much about you," she said with a obviously forced smile, offering her hand.

"Really?" Mimi asked with a sarcastic, cheesy smile. "That's funny, 'cuz Benny's never really said anything about you to me," she snapped.

Alison pulled her hand back quickly.

"Easy, Mimi," Roger whispered to his girlfriend.

Alison raised one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. "Pleasant girl," she remarked sarcastically.

Benny, noticing the death glares the two women were shooting each other, tried to change the subject. "So, are you two here alone, or…?" he asked Roger awkwardly.

Roger, appreciating Benny's efforts, answered, "The others are back at our seats."

"Where are your seats?"

"First base side. Upper deck."

"Oh, well, we have a luxury box. You are more than welcome to join us."

Alison changed the recipient of her glares from Mimi to her husband. "Benny!" she whispered urgently.

"What?"

She gave Roger and Mimi a sarcastic smirk. "Could you excuse us for a moment?" she asked, dragging her husband off to the side.

Mimi and Roger watched, in amusement, Alison and Benny fight. Alison was making big, angry hand gestures while Benny stood there like a dog being reprimanded by its master. After a minute of two, Alison stormed off angrily, leaving Benny behind.

Benny walked back over to Roger and Mimi. "So, uh, guys, listen. Turns out Alison isn't feeling very well," he said, lying awkwardly. "Maybe some other time?" he asked apologetically.

Roger clamped his hand on Benny's shoulder. "Yeah, maybe," he said, giving him an understanding smile.

"Tell the others I said 'hello.'"

"Tell Muffy we hope she feels better," Roger countered.

Benny gave the pair a small smile. "Yeah," he said before bowing his head and walking away.

"That was awkward," Mimi said with a little snort.

Roger slung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. "At least he was making an effort."

"Yeah, I guess," Mimi said grudgingly. "That wife of his sure is a bitch though."

"Well, you can't really blame her though. I mean, Benny was more interested in you than her."

"Shut up!" Mimi exclaimed, nudging Roger in his side. "It's not my fault I'm so irresistible," she said, looking up at him with an innocent smile.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Roger said, giving Mimi a quick kiss on the forehead. "Oh, look. We're next."

* * *

As Mimi and Roger made their way back to the seats with their newly acquired alcoholic beverages, they could _hear_ Maureen long before they could actually _see_ her.

"I will _not_ be stifled!" They heard her calling over loud boos. "Whatever happened to the freedom of speech? It's called the first amendment, people!"

When the two actually came within sight of their seats, they saw Maureen being restrained by two big security guards who were dragging her down the stadium steps. There was a huge crowd surrounding her, throwing various items at her, like popcorn and peanuts while giving her her very own "Bronx Cheer."

Mimi and Roger exchanged worried glances before sprinting back to their friends. "What the hell happened?" Mimi asked frantically to her friends who were watching Maureen being dragged away, still yelling.

"We were only gone five minutes," Roger said, shaking his head in disbelief.

By then, the guards and brought Maureen down to the entrance of the field. "GO SOX!" she screamed before they dragged her down the ramp and out of sight.

"Maureen picked a fight with another fan because he was taunting her about cheering for the other team. It started out harmless enough, but it escalated pretty quickly," Joanne explained to the late-comers.

Mimi look confused at the information. "She picked a fight? Why would she even care?"

"The guy was so anti-Red Sox that Maureen had to be equally pro-Red Sox. It's just the way she is," Collins sighed.

"Well, what did she say?" Roger asked, still trying to make sense of the situation. "She doesn't know a thing about baseball."

Angel shot Roger a look. "When has that ever stopped Maureen?" she asked obviously.

"Yeah, good point."

"Where are they taking her?" Mimi asked.

"I don't know," Joanne admitted, "but we better go follow her to make sure they don't throw her in jail," she said, getting up to leave.

"Good idea," Collins said, following her. "None of us have any money to bail her out."

One by one, everyone got up to follow Joanne down the steps. But then, they turned around and noticed Mark wasn't with them. "Oh, no. I'm not going anywhere. I've waited a long time to finally see a game," he said when he noticed that his friends were waiting, looking at him expectantly.

"Mark!" Mimi exclaimed.

"What?" Mark asked, looking innocent. "I wanna watch the game," he said, whining like a five year old.

Angel looked at him disappointedly. "She's our friend," she admonished.

"Speak for yourself," Mark muttered, keeping his eyes on the field.

"Mark!" all five shouted simultaneously.

"Ugh.," Mark groaned, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, getting up.

The sound of a bat connecting with the ball rang out throughout the stadium. "Oh!" Mark exclaimed, sitting back down.

"Mark!" They all shouted again.

He finally got up from the seat and followed his friends out of the stadium. "I say we let her rot in jail," he muttered under his breath as they left.

* * *

A few hours later, after a stop at the Life Café, the group, including Maureen, who was not thrown in jail, but simply ejected from the park, entered Mark and Roger's loft.

Mark entered the loft first, still sulking. He threw his keys on the kitchen counter and stormed over to the couch and sat down in a huff, pouting.

"Mark, I'm _sorry_!" Maureen called dramatically, entering the loft. "Are you ever gonna forgive me?"

He crossed his arms and looked at the wall. "No," he answered stubbornly.

"Don't worry about it, Mark," Angel said comfortingly, going over to the couch to sit with Mark. "There'll be other games," she said, patting him on the knee.

"Yeah," Maureen agreed, also taking a seat. "I'm sure the game wasn't very exciting anyway," she said, trying to take the heat off of herself.

"We can always listen to it on the radio," Roger suggested, turning on the old radio he and Mark kept in the kitchen.

A static voice of a commentator came out through the speakers. "And Leary gets the final out of the game to preserve his no-hitter!"

Roger, understanding the magnitude of that one, simple sentence, quickly shut the radio off.

"No-hitter? What does that mean?" Mimi asked, looking at Mark who had his head in his hands and was turning a very interesting shade of red.

"Exactly what it sounds like, Mimi," Collins said. "The Red Sox didn't get a single hit."

"See?" Maureen asked brightly. "No hits. How boring," she said happily, hoping that Mark would now cut her some slack.

Mark, however, let out an animalistic moan and look up and Maureen in absolute despair. "Maureen! _Un_believable!" he exclaimed before jumping out from the couch and storming off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Was it something I said?" Maureen asked, confused.

Collins sat down next to Maureen and put his arm around her shoulder. "Maureen, a no-hitter is an incredible feat. It only happens to like, one pitcher a season. Maybe," he explained carefully.

Maureen look around the room, her nose wrinkling. "So I screwed up?"

"Big time," Roger affirmed.

She hit herself in the forehead in frustration. "Oh, he's _never_ gonna forgive me," she groaned.

"Don't worry, Maureen," Roger said, sitting on Maureen's other side and slinging his arm over her shoulder as well. "I'm sure he'll forgive you when the Red Sox win the World Series."

"When will that be?," she asked, looking up brightly, not noticing the amused faces Roger and Collins were exchanging.

Roger and Collins looked at each other for a moment. "When hell freezes over," they said simultaneously, snickering.

Maureen looked nauseous when she heard that and allowed her head to fall into her hands. "Oh, God."


End file.
